


A Private Revolution

by snowbellewells



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, French Revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18400676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbellewells/pseuds/snowbellewells
Summary: On the eve of Revolution, when it seems his whole world is falling down around him, nobleman Killian Jones is given a wonderful reason to keep fighting for his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ( I wrote this fic some time back, during a summer hiatus event. The prompt was simply French Revolution. At the time, I just put together what struck me, and though it’s short and dubious in its historical accuracy, I have a friend who has asked for a sequel to it for some time. She isn’t on Tumblr, but the sequel is nearly finished and only needs typed up now, so I thought I would post this here ahead of part two, and hope some other shipmates might enjoy.)

The knock at the door was so soft he almost did not hear it, and Lord Killian Jones tilted his head to listen curiously, unsure if the faint noise had been there at all or if he had imagined someone coming to him in his solitary moment of loneliness and ruin. Yet though the knocking sound was not repeated, he could hear a quiet scuffle as he listened closely, as if someone shy or hesitant to disturb were shuffling their feet just outside his chambers – and with that, the young nobleman felt quiet sure he knew who was waiting for admittance.

“Enter,” he called out, pushing confident assurance into his voice, despite the sensation of everything being unmoored, crumbling, trembling at the brink of downfall. He could not let his fear or his uncertainty show – his family name, his noble line must be upheld, regardless of his own personal doubt. It would not do to have some disloyal servant see him quaking in his shoes and to spread that news to the crass, militant rabble in the streets. Though if this was the person he expected, she would never dream of doing any such thing.

The door swung inward by slight degrees, until a flawless, pale and heart-shaped face was revealed, muted only by the glowing halo of flaxen curls piled out of the way atop this angel’s head, with tendrils escaping here and there to trail along her neck and shoulders enticingly. The huge door, ornate with whorls and loops of hand wrought carving and adding to the opulent white and gold leaf décor of his personal apartments could not hold a candle to this chambermaid with simple and quiet dignity. It had always been so, ever since their childhood on the estate together when they had laughed and played happily, much less aware of the difference in their stations. Her mother had been his mother’s favored ladies’ maid, and Emma Swan had been on this estate in his family’s employ since birth. It mattered little however that she was a mere housekeeper and assistant to the cook; he had always been in awe of her beauty, the way sunlight caught her hair and lit it aflame, or how the sparkling humor in her verdant green eyes could bring a smile and laughter to his lips no matter what had befallen him. He was tempted even now – as he had been countless times before – to touch an escaped curl of her luxurious mane and twirl it around his finger, to know what those soft strands would feel like against his skin.

“Emma,” was all he said aloud, giving a slight nod and beckoning her forward with crooked fingers. “Come in, please.”

She curtsied as she had been taught, and moved forward, graceful tread sinking into the plush carpet. Though he had tried as often as he could for years to convince her that such formality was unnecessary, she persisted for some unfathomable reason that remained beyond his grasp. His mother had been dead nearly a decade now – to the fever – even if her loss still ached in his breast, his father had already fled the country as Killian himself had been cautioned and advised to do, and his older brother Liam fought for the crown somewhere, surely trying to protect and keep the peace in the midst of a frightening Revolution. Killian has received no word of his elder sibling, his hero, in nearly two months’ time, and the horror and panic at the thought of what might have befallen Liam threatened to climb up his throat and choke him whenever he dwelt upon it too long…

“Milord,” Emma’s quiet voice – so unique, demure and respectful, but also husky, low, undeniably sensual – interrupted the thoughts that had begun to overwhelm him, and he clenched his fists against his thighs, hoping that his childhood friend, now servant to a decrepit manor falling around both their ears, would not see that he had begun to shake when she continued speaking. “Beg pardon, Monsieur, but do you not mean to depart for the country? It is no longer safe for you here, Sire.”

His eyes darted up sharply in order to search hers, their icy blue piercing her; he could tell by the way her perfectly shaped pink lips parted on a startled gasp. “You are the one who should leave, Mademoiselle,” he remarked, irked once again that she still refused to drop her guard and address him as someone she actually knew. He cast his eyes back down to study his fine trousers and the elaborate buckles on his shoes – all silly affectations of his class that seemed so pointless now – unable to meet her guileless eyes any longer. “Flee from here, tell no one from whence you came, blend with the oncoming mob and seek their protection from your oppressors. Why do you stay?”

Trembling herself, as if she could barely stand to be so bold, Emma drew closer to him than she had allowed herself since they were fourteen, since before his mother’s death and the weight of his position had fully fallen upon his shoulders, when they had been spinning under the open sky in a sunlit field of wildflowers until they had tumbled dizzily to the ground and in a moment of reckless abandon he had pulled her to his side, brushed her hair from her flushed face, leaned over her and kissed her. It had never been repeated, but in unguarded moments Killian could sense that neither of them had forgotten that one perfect kiss. This was one such time; it was clear in Emma’s open, pleading gaze as she tentatively reached forward and put her delicate fingers beneath his chin, tilting his face up to meet hers.

“Don’t you know, K- Killian?” she whispered, stumbling momentarily over his given name, a familiarity she also had not allowed herself in years. “It is you who keeps me here. You cannot remain to make yourself a sacrifice to these fiends. Mon Dieu! I could not bear it if -”

She broke off suddenly, wrenching her gaze away with a heaving breath, and withdrawing her gentle touch. But Killian pushed forward, emboldened for the first time in what felt like ages. Resolved in an instant, he took her hand in his, his face still burning pleasantly from her touch. The thought that she lingered for him, that she would not abandon him even for her own safety and a life of freedom, shook Killian to his core. ‘Even after all this time,’ he realized, so stunned it nearly stole his breath, ‘she still feels as I do.’ He might not have been willing to flee for the sake of his own hide, but for her he would go to the end of the world itself.

Bringing the back of her hand up to his mouth, Killian placed a fervent kiss to her soft, creamy skin. “Then upon my word, we leave at once. Emma,” he savored her name on his tongue like fine wine, “it will be as you wish.”

And so, that night, when the violent mob with their torches breached the gates of his chateau, Lord Killian Jones and Emma Swan had already vanished, disappearing as one into the night.


	2. Part Two

Part Two

Their flight lasted through the evening hours, as soft dusk lengthened into deep indigo shadows and then turned over to black night, punctuated here and there by what seemed to be large fires in the distance (Killian tried not to place just where) and the occasional frightening roar of a large crowd piercing the night and running their blood cold. Once they had slipped from the grounds of his family’s estate, as silent and unheeded as shadows themselves, they dared not stop, uncertain what the nightmare nipping at their heels might bring, but sure it would devour them whole if allowed to catch up. The angry horde that had been gathering when Emma came to rouse him to action would have already torched the Jones family manor no doubt, but how far would they pursue to find the nobility they meant to punish?

Pulling each other onward hand-in-hand, Killian and Emma were both breathing heavily, nearly dead on their feet and hours into the forest after crossing fields, streams and roads of their once-familiar countryside, when they finally stumbled into a small clearing, run off their feet and unable to go any further. Stopping was a terrifying decision; being caught so obviously fleeing the chaos and destruction all around them could be tantamount to death. 

Killian had almost resigned himself to that fate as he had sat alone in his apartments at the family villa, knowing the mob was on its way, and that he had perhaps lived far too sheltered and coddled a life, that the universe might well take its due for the ease that he had enjoyed. Once Emma had come to him though, he had been inspired to save his own life. That she would go with him, leaving everything - the only world she had ever known - behind, made him desperate to make it out, to reach safety, if only for her sake. She had to survive. In his life, there had always been her, a light brighter than any of the gold or finery, and though he had not always understood what that meant, he did now. Emma was everything - all he had left - and seeing that she was not hurt and did not pay dearly for standing by his side when all else fell away was the only thing that mattered.

The sound of her dropping heavily to the hard-packed dirt and dry grass under their feet, brought him back sharply from his inner thoughts, alarmed that she didn’t move or speak , but merely huddled there silently shaking in cold or fear, he wasn’t sure which. “Emma,” he gasped, barely retaining enough sense not to cry out in distress, and rushing to her side.

She shook her head, and he could see her try to wet her lips, though both of them were parched dry from exertion and it did little good. Her hand fluttered exasperatedly at her side, as if trying to wave off his anxiety on her behalf, just as she had always put off his help when he wanted to aid her in dusting, washing, or whatever chore she had been assigned in their chateau and she was trying once again to convince him it wasn’t his place to clean with the maid, just talk and entertain her, keep her company. She always said that would make the work time hurry by. “I am not hurt, Killian,” she managed, her voice still a bit breathless and thin, but the tone of consternation at the second son of the Jones family fussing over her somewhat reassuring and familiar. “I am fine... I promise.”

He tilted his head to search her face more closely in the dark, not sure if he should believe her and relent in his concern, or if she were merely being strong for his benefit. Quite spent himself, he only managed to huff, “Are you certain, Swan?”

Her lovely pink lips quirked up at the corners a hint of mischief sparkling in the pale green light of them as she looked back at him, in spite of her exhaustion. “I am, truly. What about you? You’ll pardon me for saying, my Lord, but you appear near collapse yourself.”

Ducking his head to hide from her all-too-knowing gaze, Killian found his hand trailing up to brush against his earlobe, worrying the skin just behind it in an endearingly awkward gesture he’d had since childhood. Sheepishly he nodded, though not deigning to admit her triumph aloud, and accepted that they were both in as good a shape as could be expected.

He grew a bit thoughtful, as the stiff breeze rushing through the branches overhead began to cool the sweat on both their skin and the chorus of owls, frogs, and crickets began a nighttime symphony. A small part of him wished to take a measure of comfort from the normalcy as it began to erase some of the terror that had drove them onward. Yet, he hardly dared grow complacent, when the young woman at his side had cast her lot in with his own.

Neither spoke for a time, though their harsh painting slowed to steadier breaths and eventually blue eyes met green with tentative momentary relief.

“Shall we stay here for the night?” Emma ventured hopefully, biting her lower lip with pretty white teeth and worrying her hands together in her lap. He could see tremors in her thin frame and cursed himself for a fool at not seeing the chill she must be suffering sooner.

“Aye,” he affirmed with a short nod. “Seems as fine a place as any.” As he spoke, Killian attempted to subtly unclasp the fine traveling cloak his mother had once gifted him from his shoulders and lay it, along with a comforting arm around Emma’s own. Were he too obvious, she would certainly chafe against his hinting at weakness, but he could not stand to see her cold and shivering; not after all she had already sacrificed for him this night.

Emma’s eyes cut to him sharply with the action, in spite of his attempted stealth; however, she held her tongue, and after several breathless minutes on his part, leaned into Killian’s side. Much relieved, as he too was feeling the night’s chill rather more than he cared to admit, Killian pulled her a bit nearer still in his grasp, burrowing his chin against the downy-soft blonde halo of hair at the crown of her head, and closing his eyes for a moment against the dark, disorienting world in which they were set adrift. If nothing else, they still had each other. That thought slightly dulled the chill trembling that had begun to quake through his own veins, though he continued to feel them run through Emma from time to time, and he tried to shield her further in his surrounding embrace in response.

After some time, with their combined body heat thankfully diffusing between them, and the shivers besetting them both subsiding, Killian found the courage to ask Emma at least one of the questions which had haunted him since they’d stolen from his home. “What of your parents, Swan? Do they know where you’ve gone? They cannot have approved you taking such risk simply to help me… your employer.” There was a heavy pause before Killian stumbled over the label to their association, not feeling it quite right, but uncertain what other to apply. He cared for Emma far beyond her station in society, but he would not assume he meant the same to her. Though she had come back to urge him to save himself, to see his own worth through his blame and self-doubt, and prod him into flight, she was so good - loyal and true - that she would quite possibly have done much the same for anyone of her acquaintance.

For her part, his golden-headed Swan looked up at him for some time, her emerald-hued gaze studying him carefully in the bare moonlight, as if trying to decipher whether or not she could say whatever truth was hovering on her tongue. Finally, she drew in a deep, fortifying breath and ever so lightly, still holding his gaze with her own, pulled back from him just enough to raise her delicate hand to his chest, tentatively brushing her fingertips along the open collar of his loosely buttoned (blouse?) under his heavier woolen jacket. Her breathing sped up even as she did so, and the heat that coursed through him at the sensation of her light, curious touch through the dark hair that furred his solid chest effectively drove away any lingering night chill he felt.

“Well,” she hedged, eyes dropping from his at last, “Papa did try to forbid it,” she gave him a tremulous little half-smile while shaking her head slightly. “He wanted to be sure I was safe with them...but...Mama...she loved your mother so much...and she has always adored you and Liam as well. She - she got him to see that I really had no other choice. I had to come to you, to help if I could… I couldn’t let you…” her voice trailed off then, as if the too-terrible alternatives still waiting on the tip of her tongue could not be voiced. Where she had sought out his eyes when their conversation began, Killian now felt keenly how she avoided meeting his gaze. She had told him why back at the chateau, but it was only now, as she struggled in a way that pained him, that Killian dared to believe her previous words.

Still, he had to be sure. “What is it?” he finally urged on a whisper, tilting her face up to search her eyes once more, gentle fingers still cradling her chin. “Someone who…?”

Emma seemed to smile at him with a sort of affection only she could muster, that warmed those dazzling eyes of hers as well as curling her lips and dimpling her cheeks prettily. She gently pulled back from him just slightly, as if needing to gather herself before she went on. When she at last shook her head and blew out a breath, he almost chuckled easily along with her self-deprecating words, “I am not at all sure why I’m the only one baring my soul here, Milord.” Mischief flitted across her face along with the mix of embarrassment and amusement which had already been present, but Emma’s expression quickly turned serious once more. “I told you, fool that I am, being just a servant girl and all. I couldn’t leave someone I care about - someone I love - alone in their misery. The rioters and looters were gathering in the streets. It frightened me, what some of them were planning. I know you feel horribly that some have so little, so much so that you rack yourself with guilt you don’t deserve. They were making for the fine estates first, and...I feared if they came for you… that you might not fight back. Living with myself if I had stayed away and you… you were…” Unshed tears beaded her lovely long eyelashes as her words floundered to a halt, and Killian found his breath stolen away as he put his fingers out to cover her trembling lips, soothingly pressing in a gesture that tried to convey he understood. He couldn’t yet speak around the lump in his own throat.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could barely even blink, much less give Emma the answer she was obviously waiting on tenterhooks to hear. She had always been a bright spot in his life, even before he knew or understood what that might mean. Even more so after the loss of his beloved mother when so much of the place he had grown up in and the things he had so treasured went dull and grey. But even after he realized what the pull towards her meant, he had never put it into words, never spoken it aloud. She was so fiery and brave, so sparkling, sharp, and charismatic. The world might say that her class made her less than him, but to Killian’s mind it was reversed. How could he ever hold the attention and love of an angel like her?

However, as he felt her breathing falter and a tear tremble and finally escape to trail down her cheek, he knew he must speak. Emma attempted to pull away, embarrassed, and he gathered her close again tightly before she could. “Wait, Emma… please…” he begged. She shook her head where she had buried it against his chest, now blatantly refusing to meet his eyes, though he had heard the sniffle she tried valiantly to hide and cursed himself for being its cause.

“You don’t understand,” he attempted once more, hoping he could forestall her shutting herself off from him after the risk she had taken with her heart as well as her person. He simply had to make her see. “Emma, I feel the same. Surely you must have had some idea. Please believe me. I was merely shocked for a moment. I never thought that you could feel the same.”

Her delicate frame stilled in his arms; all fighting against his hold ceased, and big, beguiling green eyes stared back at him, blinking away the tears that had started. The look on her face seemed suddenly so hopeful, so awed, that he could not contain the answering smile that broke across his own face - even if they were freezing, lost, on the run, and their next day no longer a given. “I believed it once,” she murmured, her voice low and her fingers, as if finally freed to do so, reaching up to trace along the planes of his face. “But I did not dare hope that it would still be true.”

Killian shook his head, stunned, and having to laugh at them both, and how foolish they had been, each devoted to the other, but afraid to let them know. Leaning his head down to rest his forehead against hers, he breathed out in a comforted voice, “Strange as it may seem, my Love, I felt exactly the same.”

Emboldened by their mutual confession, he gathered Emma’s slight frame to his chest and allowed his lips to sip and taste the sweetness of hers, set alight by the feel of her kiss and of Emma in his arms.

She responded in kind, and the flame growing between them was enough to warm them both through the darkest watches of the night.

~~~**~~~

Nearly two weeks later, as they stumbled through the gates of the estate where they had learned along the road that French soldiers were sometimes stationed between campaigns, they were ragged, beyond fatigue, and half-starved, but still together and buoyed by the simple twining of their fingers together hand-in-hand. That they had been lucky enough to find the very regiment Killian’s long absent elder sibling marched with was beyond their wildest dreams of blessing. Being able to fall into his strong arms; broad-shouldered, warm and steady Liam gathering both of them in his grasp with tears in the corners of his eyes as he happily brought them to the campfire and shared his own rations, was like finding themselves safely home.


	3. Part Three

The pounding rush of hoofbeats outside the makeshift tent where she was attempting to suspend and dry the clothing she had washed in the nearby stream sent her heart into her throat as the thundering drew up outside, shaking the ground beneath her feet. Though Emma had now been living in temporary encampments with Killian and with Liam’s regiment nearly six months, under his brother’s watchuful eye and protection (despite Killian’s chafing at the overprotectiveness) she still found herself tensing at the sound of new arrivals. Would this be an angry mob? Messengers bearing horrible news? She couldn’t help it when she thought of the climate around them and the way she and Killian had fled their home with pursuers on their heels.

This time though, she did not have to worry or wonder very long, as within moments, she heard Killian’s rich, strong voice calling out her name just before he threw back the tent flap and appeared, beaming at her, in the opening. “Swan!” he greeted breathlessly, his eyes alight with joy and his crooked smile spread across his face, his dark hair ruffled by the wind and a long, hard ride. “Aren’t you the most beautiful sight to which a man could return?”

Emma’s tensed shoulders fell loosely, and she was across the tent in two seconds, throwing her arms around him tightly and clinging to him with a sob of relief.

Killian might have found purpose and fulfillment in the ensuing months since they had fled his family’s estate and life of privilege, but for Emma, his new vocation had led her into constant waiting and praying for his safery each time he rode out as a scout for Liam’s regiment, and fear that he might not return. Though not officially enlisted, he could do that - and had proved quite adept in both stealth and attention to the details necessary for giving his brother’s forces all the intel they could have on the land and who or want awaited them before they marched forward. It gave the two of them a place in the camp and let Killian feel truly useful, something he had rarely felt in the life of a sheltered aristocrat, he had confessed to her as they huddled together for warmth, both their heads sharing a single bedroll for a pillow, in the chill night air inside their tent.

More than anything, in that moment, she could only be grateful that he had returned whole and safe to her once again. Her insides were still quivering with the anxiety she always held that it might be word he had been discovered and shot down or captured out there alone. Liam, of course, instructed his younger brother to only collect what information he could gain from a reasonable distance - but she also knew Killian. The thrill of riding on the edge of danger, and his reckless lack of self-preservation, made him an excellent scout, but constandly had Emma’s stomach in knots until he rode back into the camp after each reconnaisance mission he undertook.

So much so that she had made up her mind not to bear it any longer. If her love, her best friend, the sole reason she left her home and family and the bucolic countryside she had always known, was going to be out risking life and limb for a cause he believed in, then she would be as well. Waiting helplessly for word or sight of his return would little by little drive her mad with imagining all the worst possibilities one after the next. There had to be some way that she could help him out there on the rough, dirt-packed trails. She was a decent horsewoman, could track and shoot to keep them fed, and she would be able to take down his observations, speeding the work and lessening the chance of being caught. Not to mention that she could mend his wounds if he were hurt, would know if something bad happened. They must be stronger together; she simply would not believe anything else.

Killian, however, unaware of the determination she had reached in her mind, was more involved in showing her just how much he had missed her and how glad he was to see her again. His once delicately soft fingertips, indicative of his family’s prestigious station, were now roughened by callouses from work and the elements, as they traced along the slope of her neck, then lightly brushed an escaped curl from her chignon back over her shoulder. The sensation made her insides quiver in a wholly different manner than the worry which had shaken them before his arrival - one that was deliciously addictive. “Swan, truly, what enchantment do you use to grow even more lovely each time I return? It is not fair, ma Chérie. How can a man hope to compare?”

She rolled her eyes lightly, his silver tongue having always been one of his many attributes capable of charming her, even if his actual words were overeffusive flattery to her way of thinking. He meant what he said, but he was more than a bit biased and pre-disposed to see her in her best light, through very rose-tinted lenses. Huffing out a light breath of air, she shook her head at his ridiculous compliment, even as his head dipped to lightly trail his lips along where her shoulder met her neck, making the air escaping hitch slightly with the tingles he sent chasing down her spine. Where she had opened her mouth to chide him for being such an incorrigible flirt, she instead only released a blissful sort of sigh, allowing her whole body to sway towards his never-failing warmth, drawn under his spell as inextricably as an unwitting fly might first enter the spider’s web.

“Mhmm...Killian…” she breathed shakily. “One might also question how you become a better and better kisser after each time we have been apart. Have you been obtaining practice elsewhere? Or are you the one making use of some enchantment?”

Her handsome gentleman raised his eyes then, to stare into her questioning green gaze with unblinking sincerity. There was nothing for her to do but believe him as he rasped devoutly in a voice hoarse with emotion. “I would never so much as think of another before you, mon amour. Please tell me you know that.”

Emma smiled back tremulously, her emotions making her a bit teary-eyed at the fervor he proclaimed. Leaning her forehead against his, just savoring their closeness once again she whispered, “Of course I know, Killian. Of course. You have never given me any cause to doubt your word or honor.” And it was true. This man had lost much in the last half year. Nearly everything about his life and circumstances had changed, and yet there he stood, as gallant and true as ever. His heart was still as open as it had been when they played together in the flowering fields or splashed into the fountain of the front circle at his father’s chateau, despite the scolding it had earned her and the whipping it had undoubtably bought him. He was still that boy as well as the man now standing before her. The only man she had ever loved… or ever would.

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before sweeping in to capture her lips with his own, “because not a day went by when I did not think of you.”

In spite of the sturdy, practical bent to her nature, Emma swooned a bit at the admission, honestly wondering what a simple maid like her had done to earn such ardent courtship. Though Killian smelled of sweat and horse and the dust of the long miles he had crossed, she couldn’t get enough of him as she returned his kiss, opening to his questing tongue and teeth and savoring the soft scratch of the stubble that had grown on his once smoothly clean-shaven face. The overwhelming masculinity her childhood friend now bore might cause her to unravel, but as the fire rose in her blood, she felt it would be a more than worthy capitulation..

Humming with pleasure, she was just truly beginning to reciprocate and to give back as good as she got when they were interrupted by the tent flap being thrown open once more. “Killian! You’re needed back in the saddle at --” his brother’s deep, commanding voice called out, speaking with such intense urgency that he had carried on in a rush before choking off, embarrassed, and averting his eyes upon realizing that his younger brother and childhood friend were caught up in a quite passionate embrace, Killian’s hand tangled in her hair, Emma’s chest heaving undeniably and eyes glazed over, and both of them pressed so close together that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Killian’s other hand had even begun to conspicuously bunch up her skirts - a tell tale giveaway of what they had been about, even if he dropped it quickly and took a step back, flushed beneath the dark beginnings of a beard covering his cheeks. “Liam - bon sang! A little warning before you charge in, Brother!”

Liam shook his head in consternation, still looking determinedly off to the side rather than at either of them, his voice clipped with awkward chagrin as he continued speaking more calmly. “As I was saying, Little Brother, I realize that you have only just returned, but we have need of yours skills again - as soon as you can make ready.”

Frustration worked the muscle in her love’s jawline, not doing anything to ease the unsatisfied flame in Emma’s blood, but before he could protest or speak at all, she reached up to touch the side of Killian’s face with a tender, staying hand. Looking over to Liam, she nodded dutifully. “I am sure we can make ready by nightfall.”

“We?!” both Jones men spluttered indignantly, eyes wide with disbelief.

Killian’s clearly affronted chivalry had him practically gaping at her in shock as he drew her closer. “What are you thinking, Emma?”

Meeting his gaze head-on, having known this would be cause for a fight, she answered in a voice steely with resolve. “I am thinking,” she put emphasis on the same word he had used to question her, “that waiting here imagining what might go wrong or how you might not return is torment I can bear no longer. I can help you, Killian. … And I am going with you.”


End file.
